


Maybe We'll Find Better Days

by geckoholic



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She can’t think about that, not here, not when she can hear the voice of her father in the back of her head, feel her mother’s touch like a ghost hovering just above her skin – too far away to be a comfort, too close to be ignored.</em>
</p>
<p>During the public relations tour after Pitfall, Mako returns to Tokyo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe We'll Find Better Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tielan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/gifts).



> This is your gift for [pacrimsecretsanta](http://pacrimsecretsanta.tumblr.com), posted early because my plate will be kinda full for the next week and a half, and at least this way I won't forget to post. Ooops. Merry Early Christmas? XD I tried to at least stroll through the neighborhood of all your prompt words _(future, laughter, celebrity, home)_ , and I fear the result is as close as I'll ever get to uplifting and happy. At least it isn't outright depressing? I think? /o\
> 
> Beta-read by dotfic. Thank you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Better Days" by The Goo Goo Dolls.

It all happens so fast. The first few weeks after Pitfall are a blur, like Mako’s sitting on a carousel and seeing the world fly by in a swirl of muted colors. The rescue, the debrief, the investigations and celebrations after… there’s no time to process anything properly, no time for grief, and the latter she’s almost grateful for.

Almost. Because Stacker Pentecost deserves to be mourned. He deserves to be remembered. But first, the world has to stop spinning.

 

***

 

Mako doesn’t quite bother to keep track of the all the places they’re flown. The PPDC council wants to talk to them. There’s an impromptu science conference in France that puts her on the guest list alongside with Geiszler and Gottlieb. Then South Africa, New York, Sydney. She and Raleigh exist in a state of perpetual jet lag, sleeping whenever they’re left alone for an hour or three, curled into each other while they try and will their minds to settle.

She just wants it to stop. But they’re still Rangers, and neither of them quite knows how to completely ignore an order. Bend it, yes. Discard it completely? No. And so Mako swallows past the lump in her throat and smiles when they get notified about their next destination: Tokyo.

She’s going home.

 

***

 

They arrive at night. The lights of the city are as bright and otherworldly as she remembers them, and she feels small and shaken and afraid as a cab takes them from the airport to their hotel, much like the little girl she fought so hard to leave in the past.

Raleigh reaches for her hand across the seat, but she draws it away when they touch. She feels fragile and he’s worried and it all results in a strange feedback loop, vague without the machinery to connect them properly but still strong enough that it echoes through her like a bad dream. He must sense it too, and yet he looks at her like a dog kicked out into the rain, like she’s shutting him out. Maybe she is. She can’t think about that, not here, not when she can hear the voice of her father in the back of her head, feel her mother’s touch like a ghost hovering just above her skin – too far away to be a comfort, too close to be ignored.

 

***

 

The ballroom that's been chosen for the reception seems like something that belongs into another time, another reality. It reminds her of the tales Stacker told her about the early days, when mankind still believed an early victory was not only possible but the most likely outcome and Rangers were celebrated like rock stars. They arrive a little late, and the room is overflowing with people in fancy dresses, chattering in hushed voices as they hold on to champagne flutes.

This time it’s Mako who reaches for Raleigh’s hand, her need to reassure herself of his presence stronger than her fear of the memories that might be passed between them. He holds onto her like it’s him who’s on the edge of floating and not the other way around, and that’s what she focuses on as the bodies in front of them part like the sea to let them through.

She doesn’t pay attention to the speech. It’s all hypocrisy anyway; if those people had had their way, the world would be facing certain doom right now. No one would be in here, celebrating, swaying to low classical music as politicians and diplomats pat themselves on the back while spending a small family's yearly budget on one night. That’s also why she refuses when the most recent speaker invites her to say a few words: she may be willing to come here, play their game and get shown around like a living and breathing statue of victory, but she wouldn’t be able to bite her tongue in front of a microphone.

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

Raleigh saves her by tugging at her hand and dragging her towards the dance floor. For the span of a song, the world blurs but in the good way: one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder, he shows her the steps. They move in tandem, her body following his like the currents follow the moon, not through conscious effort but something like gravity. She’s thrown for a moment, wondering where he learned how to do this, but then she remembers that once upon a time, he was a diplomat’s kid. A memory flashes between them, relict from their drift that’s now triggered and dragged to the surface: Raleigh at the age of five or six dances with his mother around an opulently decorated Christmas tree, her head thrown back in laughter against a backdrop of snow and faraway city lights.

In the here and now, Raleigh smiles, but it’s distant and sad. Mako knows exactly how he feels, and not just because of their lingering connection.

 

***

 

A few hours later, when the crowd has dispersed and no one who still hangs round is sober enough to pay attention to their whereabouts, Mako and Raleigh sneak out of the ballroom and into an elevator to get to their rooms. 

The elevator door stutters and pings open, and Raleigh stills after they both step out, eyes turned to her. The question doesn't have to be asked – sometimes they share her room, sometimes they share his, sometimes they spend the night alone, sometimes they only have one room to start with. There's no ground rules, it's on a case by case basis, and she knows he won't push. 

That's another thing they didn't have the necessary peace and quiet for yet: figure out what exactly they want to be to each other. There's no doubt about what they feel, but that's not the end of it. They have a choice to make, both of them do. They need to talk about it. 

And they will, Mako tells herself as she answers his silent question with a polite smile and a shake of her head. Just as soon as their world stopped spinning, they'll make their decision. 

 

***

 

That night, Mako can’t sleep. It’s nothing new, her inner clock so thoroughly confused that rest only ever happens due to exhaustion, but she finds it’s worse here in Tokyo. Outside, the city beckons to her, and Mako has a hard time resisting. 

She has always been one to face her fears head-on, hunt them down and take them on. That's part of why she wanted to pilot so badly, to exorcise her fear of the Kaiju. And being here, in this city, a short cab ride or a long walk away from where it happened, she's tempted to go and try for another exorcism – meet the memories that haunt her from another angle, stare them down until they retreat a little bit further. 

Mako manages to stay in bed, her eyes closed and waiting for sleep to come, until around 3 AM. Then she swings her legs out of bed, gets dressed, and marches out of the hotel with as much stubborn determination as she can muster. 

 

***

 

It's a half hour walk from the hotel to the site of the Kaiju attack. Back then, people still tried to rebuild, and she almost gets lost a few times. The park is gone, and many of the buildings don't look as they did when she was a child.

Her footsteps are sure and devoid of hesitance, even though her heart is beating in her throat. She recognizes the building that once held the shop where she got her red shoes. Most of the neighboring buildings have been torn down and replaced, but not this one. The shop is long gone, of course – there are considerably fewer people who could even afford pretty new clothes these days. Retailers and rations marks don't add up. 

She continues on, and it's as if she can see herself as a little girl walking in front of her – all she's got do is follow her. And she does, sets one foot in front of the other, never wavering, not even when the Mako from her memories finds herself alone, finds herself lost and scared and crying out. Mako walks on as she can hear Onibaba roar in her memories, as the little girl hides and weeps. 

She only stops when she reaches the place where Coyote Tango rose up in front of her. Where she looked up at the Jaeger, her hand shielding her eyes from the blinding sunlight, and found herself saved. Suddenly, she's blinking back tears. 

The grief rips through her like a lightning bolt, brings her to her knees. She allows it – maybe this is why she really came here. The Kaiju are gone, she helped make it so, but they took her sensei with them. It's not the fear or the memories she's got do deal with now, it's the loss. Mako hasn't cried for him yet. Told herself he wouldn't want her to, but knew that was a lie. 

By the time she gets up, her hands and knees are numb and the sun is rising behind the high office buildings that frame the whole city. She wipes her tears away with her sleeve. She takes a deep breath. 

And then she walks back the way she came. 

 

*** 

 

When she returns to the hotel, Mako doesn't go back to her own room. She finds herself knocking on Raleigh's door instead, isn't surprised that he opens immediately. 

“You're back,” he says. There's no question mark at the end. He knew she was gone. He probably knows where she went. 

“I am,” she replies, and steps past him into the room. 

They both sit down on his unmade bed, and he studies her face for a long moment. Then he smiles. “Did it help? You're feeling better, right?” 

Maybe it should terrify her, that they're still so in tune. There are layers to the neural handshake, some connections are stronger than others, and all of them leave irreversible traces in the minds of the participants. It'll probably lessen with time, the way he echoes in her and she echoes in him. She hopes it will, that they'll get a chance to get to know each other the right way. But tonight, it makes things easier. 

“It did. I see some things clearer now.” She inhales, sits up straighter. The way he's looking at her makes her self-conscious, and he looks away. 

There's no reason for her to expect rejection; Mako may have grown up during a war and among soldiers, but she's no stranger to men holding a torch for her. Even without having drifted and being connected and carrying an imprint of the other around inside themselves, she'd have been able to read the signs. She's not nervous. And yet, all this time, it felt like an impossibly big step. 

Not anymore, though. After tonight, there's nothing that feels too big. She reaches out to touch his neck, run a thumb over his jawline, turn his head so he's facing her. His eyes are wide. He's afraid too, as aware as she is that whatever happens next will only go one way – there won't be any take-backs. It makes her want this even more. 

He leans in so their foreheads touch, a bit like when they were out at sea, Sikorskys circling overhead and the cheering from loccent in their ears. “You're sure you want this?” 

“Yes,” she says and runs her fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, feels him shiver at the touch. “I do want it. I want you. I want _us_.” 

Raleigh nods. Their lips meet, and Mako closes her eyes. 

 

***

 

She wakes to the sunset sending stripes of dim evening light through the half-shut curtains. They're lying back to back, but she knows Raleigh's still asleep, and she stretches out so there's more of her bare skin touching his. He's a furnace, his body heat keeping her comfortably warm even though the comforter is pooled at their feet. 

They'll still need to talk. Neither of them knows what the future will hold, who they're going to be, what they're going to do for a living or _where_ they'll live. There's a whole list of things that will have to be decided and negotiated. But it doesn't have to happen today. 

Pressing a kiss between Raleigh's shoulder blades, Mako gets up. She picks the t-shirt he wore last night up from where it fell as they undressed each other and pulls it over her head. She draws the curtains open and looks out at the city, her heart still heavy but not aching quite so much anymore. 

For the fist time since Pitfall, she thinks about tomorrow.


End file.
